


English Teachers and Math Problems

by purebloodponce (orphan_account)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Muggle, M/M, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 05:50:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11098224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/purebloodponce
Summary: Draco thought he was very well prepared to face a new school, new surroundings, and new people. What he was not prepared for, however, was his surprisingly young and irritatingly attractive new teacher.or,Muggle AU in which Draco is a new student and Harry is his new Advanced English Literature teacher.





	English Teachers and Math Problems

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! I wrote this for a tumblr prompt someone requested a while ago. I felt a bit iffy writing a teacher/student, so I kept it innocent haha it was a fun little project

_Clack. Clack. Clack._  
The sound that Draco’s well-polished shoes made against the cold tile floor rung throughout the empty corridor. New life. New school. New teachers to impress. Although it sounded a bit intimidating, Draco was ready for it all. He adjusted his navy blue tie and made sure that every bit of his uniform looked prim and proper as he made his way to his first class—Advanced English Literature.

It was too late to enter any advanced classes, but the headmaster, gruffy-looking Mr. Gibbons, made an exception for Draco. “Your test results are outstanding!” he had gushed, as he proceeded to place Draco in as many advanced classes as he could. During his meetings with Mr. Gibbons, Draco had already gotten the chance to meet two of his teachers—Mr. Davids, the Economics teacher who greatly resembled Father Christmas, and Ms. Grainson, a wispy lady in her fifties who had an unhealthy love for Physics. Concerned about the lack of younger teachers at the institute, Draco slowly turned the handle on the door to his first class.

Everything looked very empty. There was no one else in the room, the teacher’s desk was unoccupied, and no words adorned the blackboard. Draco had come early to introduce himself to the teacher and to get started on the course work from the past couple months, but it seemed as if even the teacher had not arrived yet. So Draco seated himself at the desk second from the window in the first row and waited.

After ten minutes of watching time tick by on the clock in front of the room, the door finally opened, and Draco’s eyes snapped to the new arrival. At once, he was disappointed. It was not the teacher. The boy wore black suit pants, which was not very appropriate in Draco’s opinion, as the school uniform called for grey pants. His white button-down shirt had two buttons undone and he was not wearing a tie at all. A maroon sweater was draped over one of his arms and he carried a coffee mug in the other. Looking past the attire, Draco saw that he had flyaway raven hair that had a messy attractiveness to them and green eyes which appeared to be brimming with mirth. If he was actually wearing his proper uniform, Draco might even consider him date-worthy.

Two steps into the classroom, he froze, “Hello, may I help you?”  
So what if he was a ruffian without the decency to wear his uniform properly? Draco was still determined to make good impressions. He got up and made his way over to the boy and held his hand out, “I’m Draco Malfoy, I’m a new student starting from today.”

The boy proceeded to place his mug on the teacher’s large desk along with his maroon sweater before shaking Draco’s hand.  
“Well, sounds tough, Mr. Malfoy. Good luck catching up to three months worth of assignments,” he grinned at Draco, “I’m Harry Potter.”  
He picked up his mug off the teacher’s desk and took a long sip before placing it back again.  
“Well, _Harry Potter_ , shouldn’t you go sit at your own desk?” Draco couldn’t help but mention.  
“Excuse me?”  
“I mean, you don’t want to have your stuff all over the teacher’s desk when the teacher walks in, you know,” Draco clarified.

Potter walked, in a deliberately slow manner, around the table, and comfortably seated himself in the teacher’s chair instead, taking another sip from his mug. Draco was flabbergasted at this behavior to the point that he didn’t realize that Potter was saying something.  
“What?”  
“I said,” Potter repeated, “can I see your schedule please?”  
Frowning, Draco inquired, “Why?” Nonetheless, he took out his schedule from his pocket, unfolded it, and handed it over.

Without even glancing at the paper, Potter put it down on the table and pointed to a portion of it, “Now, if you would look here.”  
Draco leaned over the desk and looked.  
“What class is this?” Potter pointed to the first class on the list.  
“Advanced English Literature, why?”  
“And who teaches this class?” Potter slid his finger to the right side of the paper where the teachers were listed.  
Draco leaned in further. And then his eyes widened.

_Potter, Harry._

“You’re the teacher!”  
“I know I am.”  
“But! But, you’re…” Draco did not know where he was going with the statement, but he found it extremely hard to believe that the person in front of him was the teacher. He looked so young that Draco had mistaken him for being the same age as a student. But upon further inspection, Draco saw that he was not, after all, a boy. His jawline was chiseled in a way that no teenager’s was. The span of his chest was well muscled and did not appear boyish at all. Although he sported no facial hair, his jaw appeared as if he shaved regularly.

Suddenly, realization struck Draco. He had just told off his teacher on the first day of school.  
“I—I’m really sorry! I didn’t mean to be disrespe—”  
However, his apologies were cut off.  
“It’s fine! It’s fine! People mistake me for a student all the time,” he laughed.  
He proceeded to hand Draco the syllabus and all the assignments that he had to complete. Here and there, he gave Draco pointers, and before long, other students began to trickle in as well.

* * *

Weeks passed and Mr. Potter’s class became Draco’s favorite, and he began to look forward to his mornings. It was different; first of all, Mr. Potter was really young, and many of the things they discussed were pretty liberal, in Draco’s opinion. It was a nice change, considering that the English teacher at Draco’s old school had been an old man, too stubborn to realize that people no longer lived in Shakespearean times.

For the longest time, Draco had deluded himself into thinking that the best thing about his current English teacher was his insight and perspective on literature. However, over the course of another few weeks, he realized that there were other reasons as well.

They had gotten into a routine. Draco arrived earliest to class and casually leaned forward over Mr. Potter’s desk to talk to him while he corrected last minute papers. Occasionally, Draco said something clever, and the teacher rested his chin on his hands, green eyes piercing into silver, as he regarded Draco’s opinion. Sometimes during class, Mr. Potter leaned over Draco’s desk to read his work, exposing his perfectly sculpted collarbones in the process.

Each instance made Draco a little more self-conscious, but a lot more intrigued with his new teacher. And soon, even Draco couldn’t deny it.

* * *

It had been a month since Draco started going to school here, and as usual, he stepped into his first class around half an hour early. As he leaned over the front of Mr. Potter’s desk, he couldn’t help but admire the dark, messy hair which mirrored the color of the night. He couldn’t help but stare at the mouth that chewed softly on the back of a red pen. Draco had to keep his breathing in check just by looking at this man, and it scared him.

It took a while for him to realize that he was being talked to.  
“What?”  
“I said, you’re quiet today, Draco.”

The way he said Draco’s name made lightning strike Draco’s heart. Everything about the way Mr. Potter had hugged the syllables of his name made Draco want to ask him to repeat it a million times.  
“How come you’re calling me by my first name?”

Mr. Potter carefully took the time to place his red pen down beside his pile of papers, placed his forearms on the table in front of him, and leaned forward towards Draco.  
“Why, do you not prefer it?”

Although surprised due to the sudden proximity, Draco did not glance away.  
“No it’s just, you always call me ‘Mr. Malfoy’ and I just got used to it a bit.”

His lips quirked up and Draco’s eyes got caught on the slight movement, “Well _Mr. Malfoy_ , you’re quiet today.”

“I—I er,” Draco tried to rip his eyes away from his English teacher’s lips, but the fact that Mr. Potter had just leaned even closer while looking up expectantly did not help at all.

And in that moment, Draco did not know what he was thinking. Perhaps he wasn’t thinking at all. But he leaned down, and barely caught sight of Mr. Potter’s widening eyes before he closed his own. Their lips touched softly and Draco was immediately lost in the taste of coffee.

Draco’s mind told him to stop, but his body did the opposite. He deposited his bodyweight onto the one palm he was using to lean on the table, and moved the other to brace the side of Mr. Potter’s face. And against all better judgement, he tilted his head to one side and slipped his tongue inside Mr. Potter’s lips.

It felt like heaven, but when he felt a hand on his shoulder pushing him back, it felt like heaven was being ripped away from him.

_Bloody Hell._

Did he just kiss his English teacher? Draco’s eyes widened and he took multiple steps away from the teacher’s desk, bringing the back of his hand to wipe the tingling effects from his lips.

* * *

Skipping his first class for the next few days was easy, but it wasn’t long before he got a call home, and a long lecture from his father.

And once again, Draco found himself standing in front of the door to his English class. But the more he stood there, the more uncertain he got. What if Mr. Potter didn’t want to talk to him? What if he had a girlfriend? What if he had a wife? What if he had a _kid_?

Swallowing his fears, Draco twisted the doorknob and stepped inside in a manner that made it obvious that he was ready to turn around and run at the drop of a hat if he needed to.

Mr. Potter didn’t look up as he walked towards the desk and leaned against it, as he usually did.

“Good timing, Mr. Malfoy, I just finished grading your essay.”

So Mr. Potter was going to pretend that nothing had happened? But it could have been worse, Draco knew. So he quietly picked up the paper that was slid towards him.

A forty-eight out of fifty. Two points taken off for the incorrect use of syntax in his second body paragraph. Draco was about to slide the three-page essay inside his backpack when the last page caught his eye.

Mr. Potter had copied down a complicated-looking math problem under the last paragraph, and at the very bottom it said, “Good Luck! From, Harry.”

Draco stared at the paper.   
“What’s this?”  
Mr. Potter grinned up at him, “I heard you’re exceptional at mathematics.”  
Draco frowned, “So? Doesn’t mean you can suddenly assign me problems.”

Something glinted in those deep green eyes, “Well, it’s entirely up to you if you want to solve it or not, but just so you are aware, the correct answer _will_ be my phone number.”


End file.
